The first Major League Baseball All-Star Game was played at Chicago’s Comiskey Park in 1933; organized in conjunction with the city’s World’s Fair by Chicago Tribune sports editor Arch Ward. The American League won 4-2 behind the stellar play of Babe Ruth, who not only hit the first home run in an All-Star Game history but also robbed the NL’s chances of a comeback in the eighth inning by pulling back Chick Hafey’s otherwise certain yard ball from over the fence, a la a young Ken Griffey, Jr. The game was intended to be a one-off event, held alongside other historic displays of America’s industrial progress, such as Cadillac’s first V-16 limousine and incubators containing live babies. However, the showcase was such a smashing success that MLB, ever-capitalizing on potential revenue, decided to make it an annual affair.
Today, the Midsummer Classic has grown to include such other cash-generating spectacles as the Sirius XM All-Star Futures Game, the Taco Bell All-Star Legends and Celebrity Softball Game, Gatorade Workout Day and the State Farm Home Run Derby, among various other corporately branded proceedings. The five day celebration concludes with what is supposed to be the exhibition of baseball’s greatest current talents, the All-Star Game itself. The only problem is that Major League Baseball has tried to turn what was once a relaxed, fun-filled atmosphere for players and fans alike into a crucial must-win match-up by granting the winning league home-field advantage in the World Series. This dubious decision was made by Commissioner Bud Selig following his almost equally inexplicable judgment to end the 2002 All-Star Game in a tie following eleven innings of paired play.
The result of the 2002 game was an embarrassing disaster. Fans, some who paid up to $175 to watch the game, jeered angry chants of “Refund!” and “Let them play!” A few of the ugliest and presumably most intoxicated in attendance even threw their Miller Light empties onto the field of Milwaukee’s beautiful Miller Park (pause for irony). In fairness to Commissioner Selig, both managers had indeed used up their entire rosters placating spectators’ reasonable desires to see everyone play. He honestly believed he had no choice but to end the game a tie in what he later called a “horribly painful and heartbreaking lesson.” Now this is done regularly in similar situations during Spring Training and in reality other options for completing the game were limited. The worst part of the whole night was probably that nobody was awarded the Ted Williams MVP Trophy, the first time the honor had been renamed in his tribute following his death the previous week. Unfortunately, rather than rectify the situation for an increasingly jilted fan base (remember, this was when MLB was on the verge of its second player strike in a decade and the steroids-era shenanigans were just coming to light for most), Selig made the move that he thought would most increase competitiveness and therefore television ratings and shareholder value.
But since its inception, the Midsummer Classic has never really been about competition. Just don’t tell that to Ol’ Charlie Hustle. While he may have treated that trip around the bases like his life depended on it, and effectively ended Ray Fosse’s career in the process, most are out there to have fun. MLB’s 162 game regular season is taxing to the point that players have traditionally turned to the use of amphetamines just to endure it, and the All-Star break is their one recess from its grueling demands. Every year numerous late substitutes must be selected to replace those who decline to play due to injury, exhaustion, and apathy. So, while most of the league is at home with their families taking a much needed recovery, those bestowed with the honor of being named an All-Star and with respect enough to actually accept their nominations go out there to put on a special showing for us, the fans. And as jaded as I may be by all the surrounding commercial hoopla, even I cannot deny that they appear to have a pretty damn good time doing so.
These festivities are a special exception to an ultra-competitive season where silliness is in short supply: hats are worn backwards, hands usually reserved strictly for leather and maple hold video cameras, players’ kids join them on the field, and only after a World Series victory will you see more genuine smiles on a professional baseball diamond. But these are not the triumphant smiles of an eight month competition ended victoriously; they are the light-hearted grins of grown men taking a pause to once again actually enjoy the boyhood game they have been lucky enough to parlay into a fulltime occupation. While the two may be related, one should never be confused for the other. Yet in crafting his repercussions, the Commissioner has done just that.
If Bud Selig was actually concerned with legitimizing the All-Star Game, it would seem he should make a couple of other changes to go along with the World Series home field advantage. First, I would assume he would remove all fan voting privileges and the leave the decisions strictly to those who actually know the game best, the players themselves. Next, it would make sense that he ends the requirement that every team be represented. No offense to Pittsburgh’s Evan Meek, but I really do not understand what his average middle relief abilities bring to a team stacked with 10-win aces. If this game is supposed to be meaningful than leave it up to players who actually mean something more than one market’s television ratings.
Bud Selig has done a masterful job turning what began as a small World’s Fair sideshow into five days of fun-filled, massively profitable festivities. But he is now trying to market the All-Star Game as something far more consequential than it ever should have been. I’m sorry Mr. Selig, but this has always been and will always continue to be an exhibition game. It’s supposed to be a friendly showcase between the best baseball players in the world, put on for nothing more than our viewing pleasure. I know you messed up in 2002 and were terrified people would stop caring if you didn’t do something drastic, but let’s pretend for once that it’s not about the money and just let our heroes go out and have some fun. We’ll all enjoy it a whole lot more that way.
–
Brett Phelps is a regular writer for The Golden Sombrero who splits most of his time between the Land of Enchantment and the Biggest Little City in the World and contributes weekly to You Been Blinded. Known in other circles as Slo-Mo and Captain Buck Nasty, he is a wandering gypsy and amateur conspiracy theorist. He likes skiing, getting thrown out of sporting events, and long walks on the beach. He hates being in handcuffs, as this is usually a sign he will spend the night in jail. Any questions, comments, concerns, love or hate mail can be sent to him at brettsta04@yahoo.com
